Montana Renegade (Bear Grass Springs Book 4)

by Ramona Flightner

  Warren chuckled mirthlessly. “The same could be said of you, journalist.” He shared a smile with Jessamine and then sighed. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve yet to discover his weakness.”

  Bears looked at him and frowned. “I’m surprised by you, lawyer. His weakness is his desire for power. Over anything and anyone.”

  Warren frowned. “Do you say that because you hate him, or because it is true?”

  Bears’s brown-black eyes gleamed. “Both.” A stilted silence settled over them as they ate their dinner.

  “What’s got ye in such a foul mood?” Ewan asked Sorcha to dispel the awkward silence as they considered the problem of the Jamesons and Bertrand March. Sorcha glared at him, and he looked around the table to see if anyone could provide an answer.

  Fidelia fought a smile and tapped her fork tines on her plate. “Seems Sorcha doesn’t like having Mr. Tompkins in town.”

  “Why would you object to Harold?” Cailean asked. He frowned as his siblings laughed, and then he broke into a smile. “Oh, I’m addlepated with the lack of sleep.”

  Sorcha stared at the table, although the tips of her ears reddened. “Ye can cease yer yammerin’.”

  “Seems we havena said enough,” Alistair said. “How are things at the bakery, Fidelia?”

  Fidelia shared a smile with her sister. “Everyone wishes Annabelle well, although they are eager for her return. They enjoy Leena’s baking but wish it was in addition to, rather than instead of, what Annabelle offers.” She flushed. “Although one customer seems to prefer Leena’s baking to anything Anna baked.”

  “Would he be a certain rancher who is reported to have developed a sweet tooth since he arrived in town to aid his grandparents last month?” Ewan yowled as he was kicked under the table before Sorcha rose and scurried from the room.

  “Good aim,” Jessamine murmured to Sorcha’s back. “No need to tease your sister.” She ran a hand down her husband’s arm.

  “But she doesna even like the man. I dinna understand why it would upset her that he’s payin’ attention to another.” Ewan shared a confused look with the men at the table.

  Annabelle laughed. “Don’t expect women to make sense, Ewan. Perhaps she dislikes the notion of him favoring any woman.”

  Alistair sighed and rolled his eyes. “Perhaps that makes sense to ye, but ’tis daft.”

  “What’s daft is that Leena is promised to Karl,” Cailean said. “She won’t look to another.” He slipped an arm over Annabelle’s shoulder, pulling her against him. “When is their wedding?”

  “June. She wanted a May wedding, although I think she forgot that it would mean a mud wedding,” Fidelia said. She flushed as everyone grinned at her astute assessment. “I beg your pardon.”

  Her sister grabbed her hand, preventing her from rising and escaping to the sink. “No, Dee. We are surprised that you are speaking at all during dinner. It’s a nice change. A delightful one.” She smiled as her sister blushed.

  Bears cleared his throat. “Teasing Sorcha will not ease the ache she feels at seeing that man’s interest in another.” He watched as Sorcha’s siblings frowned.

  Ewan’s mischievous smile bloomed, and then he chuckled. “I wonder if he isna more clever than we thought.” He met his brothers’ curious stares and then Bears’s inquisitive look. “His grandparents did raise him.”

  Alistair’s smile bloomed. “He wouldna pay attention to another in the hopes of rattlin’ our Sorcha.”

  Jessamine giggled. “Oh, if it’s true, their courtship will be something to watch.” She sobered as Sorcha’s melancholy singing wafted down the staircase. “We should hope they come to their senses soon.”

  Cailean yawned hugely and shook his head. “Not likely with that sister of mine. And he seems just as stubborn.”

  Warren sat at his desk in the front room to his law office and looked up as the door opened. He smiled impersonally at the man in a long black coat, unbuttoned and open to reveal a brown suit underneath. “May I help you?” Warren asked as he studied the stranger’s blatant curiosity about his office. The man’s gaze darted around the room, his brown eyes partially obscured behind a thick pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

  “If you are Mr. Warren Clark, then you are the man I seek.” He spoke in a deep voice with a hint of the South in it.

  Warren nodded and motioned for the man to sit in the chair across from him. “I am. How may I help you?”

  The man shucked his jacket and set his hat on the peg by the door. He grabbed his small satchel and sat across from Warren. “I am Clarence Hawke.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Warren smiled and held out his hand.

  “You are very welcome. I had begun to think my letter had gone astray.” Warren settled into his chair, although his gaze was intent as he listened to the lawyer from Helena.

  “No, although I had to arrange my schedule to allow for an absence from the office.” He glanced around. “I would like to speak with Mrs. Clark, if that is permissible.”

  Warren frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I had been informed of her unfortunate … condition.”

  Warren’s frown transformed into a glower. “And what sort of condition is that?”

  “Her mother informed me when we met in Helena in December that her daughter had delicate nerves. She worried Helen would soon be sent to an institution to ensure her and her family’s safety.”

  Warren’s jaw ticked, and he flushed red. “How considerate of her.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as his blue eyes gleamed with anger. “My wife is as sane as you or I. Her mother, on the other hand …” He took a deep breath. “She has always tried to control and malign my wife, and, when she is unsuccessful, resorts to whatever she deems necessary to obtain what she desires.”

  Clarence nodded. “I feared as much. When I learned that a reputable lawyer from such a family as the Clarks had married her, I knew the story might be different than first told.”

  “My wife is of sound mind. She married me, twice, of her own volition. The pastor in town married us the second time. You can speak with him for confirmation.” Warren scrubbed at his head. “She did recently suffer a physical attack, a blow to the head, but it has not addled her. Her memory has returned.”

  After a moment Clarence nodded. “Might I meet her?”

  Warren nodded. He rose, locked the front door to his law office and motioned for Clarence to follow him. He waited as Clarence donned his outerwear and then led him out the rear door, locking it behind him. They walked the short distance to his home. “Helen?” he called out. “We have a visitor.”

  He smiled at her sitting at the desk in the parlor, reading her medical tome. He kissed her forehead as she blearily focused on him and whispered in her ear, “The lawyer from Helena has arrived.” Clasping her hand as she rose, he stood beside her as she faced the stranger. “Mr. Hawke, this is my wife, Mrs. Clark.”

  He nodded and smiled at her. “Pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs. Clark.”

  They settled in the parlor with a small fire in the grate. “I thank you for your offer of hospitality, but I have had more coffee than is healthy at the fine hotel in town. Now I find that I am most eager to discuss with you your father’s will.” He extracted an envelope from his case. “This is from your father. A letter he wrote you.”

  Helen’s hand shook as she reached for it. “Must I read it now to know the contents of his will?” she whispered.

  “No. You may read it at your convenience. However, he instructed I had to place it solely into your hands and no one else’s. As you can see, the letter is sealed, and it has not been broken.” He watched as she flipped it over, a fancy wax seal intact on the back of the envelope.

  After a moment where she fingered the envelope, he nodded and extracted another piece of paper. “I have your father’s will. He might have left Bear Grass Springs years ago, but he was not the heartless man that your mother proclaimed him to be.” He paused as though waiting for a
n objection to the comment. When none came, he continued. “He sent your mother money on a regular basis. He told me how he always felt guilty about leaving you behind.”

  “He could have stayed,” Helen wailed. “He could have remained here with my mother.”

  The lawyer frowned, his eyes deeply troubled as he watched Helen. “Your father was my client, Mrs. Clark. But, more than that, he was my good friend. I know he made a lot of mistakes, as we all do. But I do not believe he could have stayed here. Not after your mother …” He flushed, and his voice faded away.

  “Not after my mother did what, Mr. Hawke?” Helen asked.

  “A tale always has two sides, Mrs. Clark, and I believe your mother has chosen to focus on her viewpoint and promote how she was harmed for years due to his abandonment. Few remember the reason behind your father’s defection. Few remain here from that time.” He waited a moment, but Helen shook her head in confusion.

  “What more is there to know?” She shared a long look with Warren, who sat beside her, clasping her hand. “He was drunk. He was mean. He left.” A lone tear streaked down her cheek. “And I missed him every day.”

  “According to your father, you moved here due to the mine up the mountain. Your father had minimal success there but then had the idea to start a business selling alcohol to the miners. However, he had more interest in drinking his stores than selling them, so the endeavor was in jeopardy from the beginning. Your mother resented living here, wanted to live in a larger city and disliked having two children to tend.” He hesitated before continuing. “Your mother wanted a better man. Thought the newly arrived store owner would prove a better husband and provider.” He watched as Helen paled further. “Your father found out about her … indiscretion.”

  Helen whispered, “Mother and Mr. Sutton?”

  “I do not know the man’s name. Your father became a frequent visitor at the establishment now called the Boudoir, although it didn’t have such a name in those years, and left town with one of the women.”

  Warren, who had remained quiet, now spoke. “How is this helping my wife?”

  Mr. Hawke flushed. “I hope you will see that your father wasn’t as undeserving of your love and affection as you have always believed. He left here, bitter and angry with your mother, but desperately sad to be leaving you.”

  “He left not even knowing my name,” she murmured. “He called me Jane when he walked out the door.” She took a deep breath. “You describe a man I do not know. The man I knew was drunk on whiskey every day. He angered if his toast was cold or you spoke too loudly. I knew how far his arm could reach and where to stand so he couldn’t strike me. That is the man I remember. That was my father.”

  “And yet you admit you missed him,” Mr. Hawke murmured.

  She shrugged as she sniffled. “Not every moment was terrible. And it was the life I knew.”

  “And he was your father,” Warren murmured.

  She met her husband’s gaze, hers filled with gratitude at his understanding.

  Mr. Hawke cleared his throat. “Well, in the years after he departed this town, he gave up drink and became quite successful. He never stopped sending money to your mother to help in the raising of you. He also received sporadic reports about you and your brother.”

  He paused. “Your father was disappointed to learn of your brother’s actions against you and that he seemed intent on living his life as your father had done as a young man. Thus, your father decided to give your brother’s inheritance to build a school in his name.”

  “Does Walter know this?” Helen whispered, her eyes round.

  “Not yet. He soon will.” Mr. Hawke smiled gently as he looked at Helen. “Your father left you $7,000. It is in a bank in Helena, and I have the paperwork here to sign it over to you.”

  She gasped as tears poured down her cheek. “I … I can’t believe it.”

  He nodded and then shared a look with Warren. “It is true.” He frowned and for the first time looked truly uncomfortable. “I know it is not my place, as your husband is a reputable lawyer, but might I offer unsolicited advice?” At her nod, he said, “I would not make public this windfall. I fear there are those in town who will not rejoice at your good fortune.”

  Warren grunted his agreement. “What will you tell Walter? Her mother?”

  “I will review with them the portion of the will that corresponds to Walter.” He met Warren’s gaze. “I will bluff my way out of reading any more until the signatures are formalized in Helena.”

  “Plead rights of attorney. That you are unable to speak further because you are working as her lawyer,” Warren said. “I would be honored if you would represent us in this matter.” He shared a long look with Mr. Hawke. “How long will you be in town?”

  “I’m uncertain. I have to speak with Mrs. Clark’s brother, and I fear nothing with Mrs. Jameson is simple.” He shared a pained smile with Warren.

  Helen’s grip on Warren’s hand tightened to the point he grimaced. “You have a plan for Walter, but what will we do about Bertrand?”

  Mr. Hawke perked up at the mention of Bertrand’s name. “Mr. March is in town?” For the first time his smile was filled with evil intent.

  “Yes,” Warren said. “We are uncertain how to silence his threats against us as he remains intent on marrying my wife even though she is already legally married to me.”

  “Leave Bertrand to me,” Mr. Hawke murmured. “His downfall will be my greatest pleasure.”

  The following day, in late April, Warren looked up from his work and scowled at the two men who entered his law office. “You should know better than to come here looking to hire me.” Warren’s gaze flit from Walter’s hand casually resting on his hip near his pistol holster to Bertrand’s on a bowie knife.

  “How dare you steal my inheritance, you worthless word peddler!” Walter hissed.

  “Have you spoken with Mr. Hawke? I found him to be an affable gentleman.” Warren remained seated, and he forced an air of amused ennui as he stared at the two armed men.

  “Laughable, you mean,” Bertrand said, his cheek bulging with chewing tobacco. “You turned him against us before he visited our family. You ensured Walter lost his inheritance!”

  Warren exhaled. “How in God’s name did I do that from Bear Grass Springs? If you were thinking clearly, you’d remember that I arrived here years after your father departed this fine town. I never met the man.”

  “You met him last summer when you were there with that MacKinnon, chasing after his whore.” Walter’s eyes gleamed with pent-up rage.

  Warren slammed his hands onto his desk and rose. “You will speak about the MacKinnons with respect. You will give Mrs. Alistair MacKinnon the regard she is due, as a former schoolteacher in this town and as the wife to a reputable business owner.” He glared at the two men, his face reddened and jaw ticking until Walter nodded. “I have no need to explain to either of you what I did or didn’t do last summer. However, I will say that I never had the good fortune of meeting Vincent Jameson or his wife in Helena.”

  “No man turns away from his son. It isn’t done,” Bertrand said.

  “It’s done more often than you think, March,” Warren said. “Now I would suggest that you leave Mrs. Clark and me alone. We have finally visited with the lawyer, notwithstanding all Mrs. Jameson’s attempts to prevent such an event from occurring, and we would like to be left in peace.”

  Bertrand took a step forward and leaned toward Warren until they were nearly nose to nose. “You won’t have no peace until I get what’s owed me.”

  When Sheriff Sampson walked by the front window with a nod of his head to the three men inside, Bertrand sneered at Warren and then turned, pushing his cousin out the door.

  Warren watched as the sheriff walked on past his law office and into the nearby sheriff’s office where the jail was housed, while Bertrand and Walter sauntered down the boardwalk in the opposite direction. Then Warren caught sight of his wife as she entered the bakery across the
street. He rose, grabbing his coat and hat. He entered the bakery, pausing a moment as the scent of almond, cinnamon and cloves enveloped him. “Heaven,” he whispered as the tension from the past few minutes evaporated.

  He opened his eyes as he heard a giggle and met Leena’s amused gaze. Her blond hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid that looked like a crown wrapped around her head, and she wore a white apron over her rose-colored gingham dress. “Do you have a cookie?”

  She shook her head but then pulled out a piece of apple cake. “I think you will like this, Mr. Clark.” She smiled as she accepted his coin and giggled as he groaned in pleasure at his first bite.

  “This is delicious. Thank you, Miss Ericson.” He gobbled down the rest of the apple cake in a few bites.

  “Your wife is in the back.” She motioned for him to go through the doorway as she attended another customer.

  He walked into the back and frowned as the female conversation ground to a halt at his entrance. “No need to cease speaking at my appearance.” He smiled as Helen moved to his side and hugged him. “Hello, love,” he whispered. “Why is Leena out front rather than Leticia?”

  “Lettie isn’t feeling well,” Helen whispered and flushed. “She’s in a … delicate way.”

  His smile broadened as he looked to Annabelle and Fidelia. “Alistair must be ecstatic.”

  Annabelle grinned as she sat on a stool. She had just returned to the bakery and was more tired than she would have liked. “He is, although he’s terrified. He remembers what happened to Maggie.” She sobered as she referred to Cailean’s first wife who had died in childbirth. “He worries.”

  Warren nodded. “Helen is here to help, and a new doctor will arrive soon.” He gave his wife a squeeze. “I wanted to ensure you were well,” he said to Helen as Fidelia and Annabelle continued to work. “I just had a visit from your brother and cousin, and they were under the impression that I had influenced your father to change his will.”

  Her gaze shot to Annabelle and Fidelia, and then she relaxed. “I knew they would be upset.”